


He's Late

by rideswraptors



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: But he really likes Karen, F-Bombs for days, F/M, Frank does not like the defenders, Frank is LATE, More fluff than violence, One Shot, gratuitous foul language, not much, some smuttiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 15:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: Frank Castle made a promise and he intended to keep it, no matter who got in his way.





	He's Late

**Author's Note:**

> Idk wtf this is, but here you go.

“Castle! What the fuck--Fucking shit, what the fuck, man?” Jessica Jones shouted over the din of his gunshots as he put down several gang members who were clambering to join in the fight against the infamous strongwoman Defender. 

 

“Suck a dick Jones!” he spat back. “For the seven hundredth time--” he put another bullet between 2 eyes, “it’s  _ Castiglione _ !” 

 

“Fuck you! Stop-- Fuck! _ Seriously _ ?!”

 

He quickly put down another three armed men as she smashed one to the ground. Her outrage came from his tendency to shoot them after she knocked them unconscious.

 

“I do not have time for this! I have to  _ go _ !” He punctuated that statement with another bullet in another chest.

 

“You didn’t--!”

 

“I only agreed to this because Trish  _ nagged me _ . Go get your boyfriend if you don’t like it!” She chucked a stray brick at him for the barb, which he only narrowly avoided. Trish and Jessica weren’t on  _ great _ terms, only just starting to heal, but they were significantly better than Jessica and Luke Cage. Evidently, his one-off partner didn’t appreciate his commentary on the subject. 

 

“What’s so important that you gotta kill 10 fucking guys?” she snapped as she jogged toward the point of her mission: a young man tied to a chair who had been missing for a few hours. His frantic boyfriend had sought her out because the police wouldn’t help until the 48-hour mark. Good thing he found Jess, too, because this little baby gang of neo-nazis targeting gay black men in the community was no fucking joke. He was already unconscious and looking ready to bleed out. He and Jess had taken care of the crew torturing the kid and guarding their headquarters, but more would come if they hung around too long. And then Karen would be  _ pissed _ .

 

Frank was already jogging out the door, leaving Jess to tend to her client and fend for herself. 

 

“I  _ promised _ !” he shouted back at her viciously, as if she were stupider than words could possibly describe. He heard her echoing  _ What the fuck Castle  _ as he jumped into the car he’d taken off Curtis, and sneered again hearing his dead name on her lips. If Karen and Trish weren’t attached at the hip--He didn’t get along with the baby superheroes on his best days. They had a holier than thou attitude he couldn’t tolerate or work with. Cage was the worst of them, even if Murdock had set Frank’s teeth on edge from the beginning. He didn’t like the pedestal Karen had put him up on, and he’d eat his left foot if that son of a bitch was really dead. Guys like Red didn’t  _ die _ . They had several hundred lives and a deep ornery streak. Murdock would be back in their lives like a bad bout of seasonal flu in no time. Frank wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. 

 

Frank swore under his breath with the flash of a cop car blazed in his rearview. Seriously? Right now? 

 

“I do not have time for this shit,” he grumbled under his breath. Frank immediately slammed on his breaks, forcing the cop to rear end him hard enough to crunch the bumper. Then he took off down an alley, twisting down the back streets of Hell’s Kitchen to get to the godawful Midtown garage where Curtis kept his car. He tucked a couple of hundreds into the visor to comp for the damage and took off quick as he could into the city streets. 

 

He was hustling for sure and irritated by the sheer amount of people in the streets that night blocking his path. Usually, no one would fuck with a guy his size with a scowl on his face, but Frank cut through a couple of alleyways to shorten his commute and was ambushed by two guys with switchblades. 

 

“Fucking--” he groaned as they tried to hold him at knifepoint, claiming he was in their territory and had to pay the toll. He quickly disarmed the first guy, broke the second one’s nose with his elbow, and then sucker punched the first, not bothering to help him down the ground so he wouldn’t crack his skull. 

 

“I’m  _ late _ !” he growled at them, tossing the knives aside, before storming off in a cloud of rage and impatience. 

 

*

 

Karen chewed at the inside of her lip and shot her gaze back to the door for the sixth time in roughly 30 seconds. Ellison looked annoyed with her nervousness, but she couldn’t help it. Her platform was the written word, not spoken. Getting up, accepting an award, and making a speech about her work in the last year was not exactly her idea of a good time. She’d been harassed into accepting it merely so  _ The Bulletin _ would have another feather in its cap. 

 

She hadn’t even  _ meant _ to invite him. It just sort of slipped out. Frank had that effect on her; forcing full truths out of her which she had meant to keep locked down. Actually, they’d been in a...compromising position when she’d asked. He’d pulled his head up from between her thighs, looking startled, confused, but a little pleased. Much to her own surprise, he’d agreed quickly. Too quickly. Like he was afraid she’d take it back. 

 

Their relationship wasn’t really “public.” Karen’s people knew she was seeing someone. Frank’s people knew how far he was willing to go for her. Thus far, neither worlds had truly meshed. But even Karen couldn’t deny how much she wanted...needed him there that night. And he’d  _ promised _ . Realistically, it was unwise for him to make any sort of promises for the hours after nightfall, but he’d done it anyway. He worked construction as Pete Castiglione by day and haunted the streets of New York as the Punisher by night. Frank Castle, the man, only ever appeared once safely ensconced in Karen’s new apartment. And  _ Frank _ had made the promise. Not Pete, not the Punisher, but Frank. And Frank kept his promises. 

 

But he was late. And Karen was trying not to dwell on the implications of that. Ellison thought she was being a little ridiculous.

 

“He works construction, Kare, sometimes they get held up.”

 

She took a sip of her wine. “Of course, you’re right, I know.” Her tone was unconvincing, and even she knew it.

 

“It’s five minutes, not an hour. It’s probably traffic. He’ll be here.” 

 

“I get it, Ellison.” 

 

“I know you’re nervous, but--”

 

“Ellison!” she snapped. “I get it!”

 

Karen inhaled sharply when the lights dimmed and the host for the evening came out on the stage to the sound of demure applause. Her heart sank a little as he started to talk, thanking the sponsors, the guests for their charitable contributions, then introducing her and her work to the crowd. She felt her gut clench out of sheer anxiety. 

 

“And now, it is my extreme pleasure to introduce you to our award winner and speaker for this evening, Miss Karen Page!” The crowd applauded, turning to cheer her on during her approach to the stage. But she hesitated. Thankfully, there wasn’t a spotlight or anything cheesy like that, so her pause went largely unnoticed. 

 

A hand landed on her bare shoulder, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Because it definitely wasn’t Ellison’s slight, uncalloused hand. She’d know that touch anywhere. Karen was up out of her seat and turning to hug him without a moment of hesitation. 

 

Frank’s arms immediately came around her, the lingering scent of blood and gunfire singing her nostrils and settling her stomach as nothing else could. 

 

“That’s your cue, ma’am,” he whispered, amusement lacing his voice as the applause continued around them. She pulled back with a contented sigh.

 

“You made it.”

 

He offered her a lopsided grin and a shrug, “I promised, didn’t I?” She bit her bottom lip to prevent something stupid slipping from them. He lifted his brows at her and nudged her along. “Go, they’re waiting.” 

 

She pointed back at him as she walked ahead. “We’re discussing your punctuality later.”

 

“Looking forward to it.” 

 

*

 

Frank knew he’d surprised her by showing up before her speech. Knew it was a surprise he’d showed up at all. Even if he did promise, even if he did keep his promises, his work as the Punisher was not something either of them had much control over. Thus far, Karen was the only thing that could put the beast to bed and bring Frank back to neutral. Regardless, he’d never spared a bullet in his efforts to get to Karen. No matter who was involved. 

 

Truthfully, he didn’t listen to her speech. He alternated between watching her (because she looked fucking gorgeous in that slinky black gown) and watching the crowd’s reaction to her. They were just as enamored as he was. Admittedly, they were much more attentive. Frank had heard her speech about a dozen times, read through it a few times, too. So he wasn’t really missing much. 

 

In fact, Frank had some difficulty paying attention to anything that wasn’t Karen for the rest of the evening. The dinner was bland, the other guests boring, and Karen was just so vibrant that everything else paled in comparison. Ellison was nice enough for a slimy reporter type. He clearly had more ambition and less moral fortitude than Karen, but at least he supported her efforts. Everyone else there donated to or supported the newspaper business in some capacity. Which meant they were money-grubbing, elitist, entitled assholes who felt they could monopolize Karen’s time like she was some darling toy they’d chosen to play with that night. Frank stood quietly at her side, glaring down anyone who looked too eager to get at her. It was a reflex at this point: protect Karen Page. She smiled at him indulgently and slid an arm through his before threading their fingers together and squeezing. He simmered a little, but it didn’t stop him from putting a hand to some slick motherfucker’s chest when he moved to stand too close to Karen. 

 

Karen turned her head, laughed lightly, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. It was a sign to simmer down, not get so worked up. The Punisher receded, so he patted the guy’s chest this side of too rough and steered Karen in the direction of the bar. He needed a break. 

 

*

 

The rest of the night was kind of a blur Frank didn’t care to remember until he had Karen safely home, trapped under his body in their bed. He had a crash pad for days or nights when he needed it, but he wasn’t kidding himself into believing that this wasn’t their shared space. He fucked her like an animal, overly pleased when she left bruises and scratches on his skin, and kept her tight against him when they were sated. Truly, holding her close after was the only thing that prevented him from thinking he was locked in a fever dream that he’d eventually lose grip on. 

 

“So,” she breathed out in a pant, pushing her hair out of her face, “what held you up? That smuggling ring?”

 

“Pssht,” he scoffed, “No. Story first, punish second. I know the rules, love.” She merely hummed at him, probably realizing that she wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of him anyway. Almost 90% of the time, Karen was directly or indirectly involved with his work. But for that little, tiny remainder? He kept her locked out. Karen (mostly) respected that boundary and had learned when to probe a little deeper and when to back off. Evidently, she trusted him to bring her what was important. He was worried though; because one day someone was going to figure out that the criminals cited in Karen’s award-winning articles were being systematically snuffed out, one by one, after publication. Sometimes he would plan it out so they were dead before the article printed and discovered after it was common knowledge. Karen gave him extra side glances in those instances, but he couldn’t completely squash the instinct to protect and defend. Even if she didn’t like it much.

 

To keep her fully distracted, he kissed down her cheek and jaw, starting to work on her neck. She made those pretty little noises which always got him going---when they were rudely interrupted by the loud  _ ding _ of her phone. Karen kept an individual ring for each contact, so Frank knew exactly who was texting her this time of night. She arched to grab her phone from the nightstand, making him grumble about drunken assholes with no boundaries. Despite the playful push at his face, Karen was still smiling while she read the text.

 

“Oh!” she chirped. “Jess found that kid from the Bronx! They’ve got him all cleaned up and put in a report at the station. I’ve got the go-ahead for the story.” 

 

“Great,” he answered with faux cheerfulness, scowling at the memory of Jessica’s half-assed rescue mission. Karen turned a pointed look at him, brow arched. 

 

“She’s pissed you didn’t help out?” 

 

“Fuck Jones. She's always pissed about something.” 

 

“That’s...not an answer.” 

 

“Who said I was answering?”

 

Her jaw dropped a little, grin wide and teasing. “You went to help out, didn’t you?  _ That’s _ why you were late!” 

 

“Aw, don’t start--”

 

She tossed her phone to the end of the bed and crawled over him to pepper his face with kisses and thank yous. Frank pretended for all of a second to resist her gratitude, but quickly succumbed when her lips reached his. He didn’t think he would ever consider denying that woman anything, let alone a kiss. Even if he was annoyed. 

 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he assured her very seriously when they took a breath. Her responding expression suggested that she didn’t believe him.

 

“Uh-hmmm, of course,” Karen answered with a nod and feigned seriousness, dipping down to kiss him lightly. 

 

“I mean it. I don’t like them. They’re dangerous.” 

 

“So’re you,” she mumbled around their kiss. Frank braced his arms tight around her back and flipped them to get the upper hand, easily taking control of the kiss and ravishing her. 

 

“She’s crazy. And reckless.” Karen latched her hands onto his face, bringing their mouths back together, not at all concerned with counter-arguments.

 

“You’re cute. And sweet,” she offered back. He was going to grumble something back which wouldn’t have been flattering to either of them, so she stopped him with her mouth. “But you don’t dictate my life. Or my friends. And that’s what they are. My friends.” Her hand moved over his cheek and ear, fingers grasping, so he had to assume that she wasn’t too upset with him. If she was upset, he would know. Quick. That was one of the nice things about his relationship with her. No bullshit. She didn’t put up with his, he didn’t put up with hers. They both frequently overstepped lines and frequently knocked each other back into place. Karen claimed that’s why they worked; they kept each other safe and grounded no matter what the stakes. 

 

He kept looking down at her, absolutely positive he looked like a damn fool because he was so gone on her already. 

 

“Well,” he told her, voice thick and scratchy, “maybe that’s why I went.” 

 

Her phone dinged again from the end of the bed. He cursed at it but acknowledged the lift of her brows which meant she wanted the damn thing. Frank scrambled to get it, and then situated her back on top of him, comfortable enough without inhibiting her ability to read. 

 

“ _ BTW yo boo dropped 20 guys. He owes me $$ for clean up, _ ” she read with no small amount of incredulity. “Frank!” she smacked his chest.

 

“It was  _ nine _ ,” he sneered, “they were fucking Nazis and I was late, goddamnit.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
